Machine, She Wrote
by Chad Rick Lesens
Summary: J. B. Fletcher, renowned mystery novelist, suddenly encounters strange occurrences throughout New York City. Little does Jessica know that an all-seeing machine warns two men of her imminent danger. Events are set in Fall, 2012 before 2X10 "Shadow Box."
1. One: An Old Acquaintance?

Disclaimer: The following content contains characters and plot references of other major works on film and/or television. I do not own any said content, which is property of their respective owners (CBS, Warner Bros., Bad Robot Prod., etc.). Nor is any of this content used for my personal profit, simply for the aspiration of writing, as well as for non-profitable entertainment.

One

An Old Acquaintance?

It is rather bleak and dark for a Wednesday morning. Usually, during this time in autumn, the sun would rise behind the towering skyscrapers of New York City, exposing the grey atmosphere that is reflected off of the concrete, cold steel buildings, and the charcoal asphalt adjacent to the dusty curbs and the colorless sidewalk. The only thing that could make this type of morning any bleaker, which occurs on _this_ Wednesday morning, is a heavy, dark raincloud looming over the city, preventing the rising sun from ever reaching the gloomy streets, making it appear as if it were still the darkest hour of the night; quite the unfortunate setting for _any_ city-dweller who walks on these sorts of streets. However, the inhabitants of this, or _any_ city, would pay no mind to the type of morning, let alone the type of setting they inhabit. They simply act in their mechanical routines: shutting off their alarm clocks, rising out of bed, eating breakfast, decently preparing themselves into their respective attire for each of their appropriate occupations, turning on the television or radio, or reading the newspaper to be informed of the latest news and weather, and, for this particular morning, putting on rain jackets and umbrellas. But for renowned mystery novelist, and reputable crime sleuth, J. B. Fletcher, there is no hope of ever leaving her apartment to spend a single moment in the rain.

_At least it brings a little sense of cleanliness to this atmosphere_, she retorts in her mind. Despite the fact that the dark rain cloud made the city slightly gloomier, Jessica envies the people outside who are enjoying the first autumnal showers of New England, something that she favored very much in her hometown of Cabot Cove. As she looks out the window of her apartment, she recalls the many rainy nights she and Frank, her husband, would cuddle by the fire and weather the storm. And when Frank passed away, she recalls the times when her friends would come visit her, or she to see them, and share a cup of coffee or tea at the kitchen table. Then at the very thought of her friends she runs through her mental checklist of all who are dear to her in Cabot Cove: Amos Tupper, Seth Hazlitt, Mort Metzger, Eve Simpson, Loretta, and Ethan. Then she remembers her friends from abroad: Michael Hagarty, Dennis Stanton, Harry McGraw, her dear nephew Grady and his wife Donna, and Charlie Garret. She could go on for hours recalling those she considers her own special family.

However, this is not the kind of day to reminisce about dear friends and family, and old acquaintances. Jessica knows she must dedicate this entire week on going over notes and suggestions from her editor on her new book, as well as making changes in said novel based on said notes from said editor. It almost makes Jessica admit that even her line of work is becoming mundane – _almost_.

She enjoys seeing people lining up to every book signing and book tour she travels to, noticing how much her novels make people smile and inspire creative thinking for future writers to come. It was moments such as these that make Jessica feel like she is among the most prominent authors in history, alongside Charles Dickens, C. S. Lewis, Jane Austen, and Harper Lee, to name a few. Just simply knowing that her novels bring such a gleeful source of entertainment and leisure to, at least, some readers, and learning that her works make somebody's day motivates her to press forward as best she can in spending an entire week indoors to complete her latest novel.

Now as for her occasional pastime, or for some people a strange hobby, that is practically a separate matter. Most people would tell her that she puts herself in terrible trouble, or worse, in lethal danger, while others would hiss at her, saying how it is none of her concern to even get involved. But even those remarks do not dampen her spirits, for she believes she is performing her civic duty to the utmost potentiality. She sees it as helping a friend in need, or simply an innocent victim, as well as doing the best she can to help the law enforcement catch the true perpetrator through her knowledge and intuition, which is something she acquired from writing several mystery novels. Again, some people may think she is "nosy," and maybe even say how stubborn she is, but what matters to Jessica Beatrice Fletcher is that she is doing what she knows is right, as well as making a positive difference in the world.

"Jess," a familiar grumble from the kitchen suddenly breaks Jessica's deep meditation, "If you **don't mind** leaving that poor window alone for a **few seconds**, and helping me find that **infernal** spatula so that I may cook a **proper breakfast**!"

"Oh! I'm sorry, Seth," exclaims Jessica, as she turns to face the town physician and her longtime friend. He stares at her, having his hands leaning on the kitchen counter, as if he had been impatiently trying to get her attention. Walking away from the window, towards her writing desk and computer she says, "It's with the other culinary utensils as always, Seth."

"And **where**, exactly are they, hmm?"

"Seth," she says in exasperation, "they're standing right there, next to your right hand!"

"Next to the sink?" gasps the old doctor, "Why, that is the most **preposterous** place to put them. Everyone knows that they must be placed closest to the area in which one cooks." He grabs the culinary instrument in an exaggerated, flustered manner and turns toward the tin bowl full of batter next to the stove. "Next to the sink,** indeed**," he remarks under his breath.

Turning to face the kitchen, Jessica notices the eggs, milk and flour mess all over the counters just behind the flustered and groggy doctor.

"Oh now, Seth, you don't have to fix me breakfast. I already ate."

"Who says I'm fixing **you** breakfast," Seth grumbles in response, "I wake up, find you staring out into some sort of **Wonderland**, and see no meal has been fixed for your good friend, the doctor from Cabot Cove, who comes **all this way** to visit **you** in New York, as is my annual custom to make a social call at your home-away-from-home."

Knowing that this is his attempt to make her feel guilty, Jess chuckles at him while rising from the desk and heads to the kitchen.

"Seth, if you want a friend who is your host to fix you a meal, all you have to do is ask."

"But **I did**! If I had the London Symphony Orchestra **right here** playing the _1812 Overture_, you would **still be** **oblivious** to your own surroundings."

"Oh, Seth, I'm so sorry…" Jess begins, but is cut off by the typically grouchy voice of her old friend.

"Oh, now there's no need to be sorry, Jess. What's done is done. No need to fret about it anymore."

"I know you are not your…_cheerful self_ without a good breakfast…"

"As I always say: a good breakfast is the best way to start a healthy day."

"…and I know I haven't been my usual, conscious self recently…"

"**That **is the understatement of the third millennium."

"…but I'm afraid it's because I haven't been my usual self for some time."

"Well, as a doctor, Jess, I'd say it's because, like me, you are getting older."

"Oh!" Jessica gasps at Seth's witty remark and chuckles sarcastically, "that's most comforting, Seth."

"Well it's only natural to feel as if one's batteries are running low more quickly, simply because of the natural fact that one becomes older, and feebler."

"And one _naturally_ feels surprised by this discovery, simply because they didn't expect this to happen so suddenly, even though they knew this day would come?" Jessica remarks with a small smile at Seth, who returns the same sort of smile with a weak scoff, lightly saying, "Yep."

"Which is why you are _grouchier_ than usual this morning; and yesterday when we walked in the park?"

"**And** the day before, when I arrived at the airport, complaining about my back from sitting in that pitiful excuse for a chair on that flight." Now Seth seems to be speaking in a softer tone, as if his self-awareness was in itself a new discovery for him.

"I guess there's no denying the fact that we are only getting older by the minute." Jess can only heave a gentle sigh as she embraces her old friend. "Yes, I guess so," Seth chokes into her ear.

"I'm sorry I was shutting you out."

"And** I'm **sorry for snapping at you; especially after all we've been through." They part from their warm hug to smile at each other once again.

"And I am **also sorry** for making such an emotional fool of myself, and interrupting your editing!" Seth exclaims. Jess knows this is his way of ending a heartfelt conversation: by returning to his normal self. She laughs softly, gives a gentle kiss on her friend's cheek and heads back to her desk.

* * *

John Reese enters into the old library, shaking and folding up the umbrella he used in the rain. He walks up the stairs, hearing the patter of paws and clinking of a dog collar. As he gets to the top, he sees Bear, the Belgian Malinois, greeting his master. Mr. Reese smirks and gives Bear a good rub on the neck and a pat on the back and heads toward Finch's central station. He hangs his umbrella on the rack, but keeps on his black raincoat, as he makes his way to a still figure in a three-piece suit, sitting on a desk chair and staring at several monitors, with his hand slightly touching the mouse.

Even though he first saw Finch as an odd, paranoid, rich guy, Mr. Reese gradually began to admire and respect him; and more importantly, began to see him as a friend. He cannot recall anyone ever risking their own life, especially in a crippled condition, to ensure his safety and wellbeing without hesitation. He cannot even recall having someone like Finch while he was in the Middle-East. In fact, he can only remember the false presumption he made while being stationed: "In the end we're all alone, and nobody's coming to save you."

_She was right,_ he says in thought, _I didn't really believe it. And I was wrong to believe it._ Finch giving him a purpose _alone_ proved him wrong. When Finch was abducted by Root, Mr. Reese was determined to find him and, if possible, rescue him. Like he told the Machine, he was not willing to continue without Finch. Not only is Finch his employer and partner, he is also the only real friend Reese has.

_Okay, maybe not the _only _one. But still_. Reese knows he would have been able to continue without Finch, and protect people with the help of Carter and Fusco, who gradually became as much partners as assets; but he felt that he deserves to have a true friend alongside him, who not only shares knowledge about the Machine, and the same intention of helping people, but also shares a mutual understanding of pain and regret. And so when he threatened the Machine that he would not be the contingency if it did not help him find Finch, he meant it. He was not, and never will be willing to continue receiving numbers without Finch, his first true friend for what seems like a lifetime. It seems as if the friends and family he left behind were from another era, far away, and impossible to reconnect. The world, after all, thinks he is dead, which is another commonality he and Finch share.

"Good morning, Mr. Reese," says Harold Finch with an even, computing tone, who is still keeping his eyes on the monitors. "Lovely Fall weather we're having, aren't we?"

"Nothing like a little rain to start a new day," Reese softly rumbles in a low tone, also evenly, but with cunning.

"And a new number," Finch adds, "or perhaps I should say number_s_."

"Another number crunch?"

"Yes, but like the Drakes, this involves only two numbers."

"How many couples in New York want to kill each other, Finch?"

"Not in that sense, Mr. Reese," Finch knows it was Reese's way of asking for specific details. "The Machine gave us the numbers of two rural, senior citizens." Finch says this as he rises from his chair and limps to the glass bulletin board and hangs up two photographs. Both show an elderly person, each in their seventies or eighties, one male, the other female. Mr. Reese notes that the hairstyle of the male indicates he is an old war veteran, as well as the large, round pair of glasses, which seem to match the shape and size of the plump face, covering beady eyes behind them. And as for the woman, from the bright smile and the wide, keen eyes, Reese perceives her as friendly, as well as someone who is inquisitive, and has an eye for detail.

"Their names are Seth Hazlitt and Jessica Fletcher," Finch introduces them plainly. "One is a physician, the other a highly renowned mystery novelist. Both are from a small coastal town called Cabot Cove, Maine, and both are widowed for over thirty years."

Reese picked up the folder on their latest numbers for closer examination.

"By their age, marital statuses and common place of origin, it's safe to say that they're friends."

"Yes, I made the same conclusion."

"Which means one is not the perpetrator to the other..."

"…and that they are either both the victims, or the perpetrators of a violent crime."

"You think these two friendly senior citizens are capable of painting the town red," Reese asks with a slight smirk, giving a slight critique on Finch's paranoia.

"As you are well aware, Mr. Reese," Finch rebuttals in the same tone as before, "nothing is always as it seems. We must be open to every possibility if we are to determine what the Machine saw." Finch says this as he limps back to his chair to face the monitors again.

"I just find it difficult to imagine an elderly doctor and writer from a small fishing town picking pockets, let alone premeditating a murder."

"Given that the Fletcher woman is a mystery novelist, she could be the mastermind," Finch offers intuitively. But as Finch turns to face Reese, he is shocked to see a glare looking back at him, as if Mr. Reese took offense at that suggestion. And in a defensive, but intimidating tone, Reese remarks, "Well I guess we'll find out."


	2. Two: Analysis and Progress Report

Two

Analysis and Progress Report

Reese stands on the rooftop of an apartment building, holding a Nikon D3100 camera to his brow, and observing the activity in the fourth apartment window from the left on the fourth floor, right across the street. From this perspective, he can easily see anyone leaving, or entering the main entrance and side doors in the alleyways. Looking down from his hawk's nest toward the unsuspecting occupants of 4E, Reese sees that the woman was sitting at a desk, facing a computer and what would seem to be some notes, with her back facing the window. As for her friend, the doctor, he is moving from what Reese supposes as the kitchen, to the dining table right in front of the desk, carrying with him a plate of flapjacks, bacon and eggs.

"Finch, I've got eyes on Fletcher and the doc," says Mr. Reese through his earpiece, "So far, nothing suspicious."

"Any activity inside the apartment that could indicate a potential threat?"

"Not unless high cholesterol counts."

"Then I suggest you'd focus on detecting any unusual behavior outside the building," Finch continues, ignoring his partner's remark, "I noted your insightful…presumptions on their behalf, and decided to dig a little deeper in their past activities."

"I'm guessing you found something even more insightful?"

"Undeniably, Mr. Reese." Finch scrolls through several news articles of various geographical origins. Two in particular, _The New York Times_ and _The Boston_ _Journal_, describe a mobster kidnapping of two senior citizens. "Mrs. Fletcher and Dr. Hazlitt both experienced hostage situations caused by crime bosses both here and abroad."

"Makes people wonder how they survived," says Reese with curiosity.

"Partially out of good fortune," Finch responds, "but mostly out of ingenuity on Mrs. Fletcher's part. She also seems to have a reputation of assisting the local law enforcement in certain cases."

"Was she a private investigator," Reese asks.

"Actually, no. She was merely a high school English teacher turned novelist. It would seem she acquired forensic and investigative inquiry through her research. Her records with the local library contain an endless list of weapons, poisons, old case files, urban legends, and even folklore."

"And since she travels abroad on book tours," Reese adds, "her reputation for both writer and amateur crime sleuth is known almost everywhere."

"Precisely. She has assisted in several homicide cases nationwide, not to mention internationally, such as Hong Kong, Paris, Cairo, Milan, and even St. Petersburg near the end of the Cold War."

"Sounds like she can also make enemies as easily as Carter," Reese quips as he takes several more shots of the apartment, and observes Dr. Hazlitt getting up and clearing the table.

"Indeed. However, I am still inclined to suspect foul play in all of this."

"Still think they might be the perpetrators, Finch?"

"With the depth of knowledge Mrs. Fletcher possesses," answers Finch, "she certainly has the potential to commit the perfect crime. In fact, I would go so far to say that her age, appearance and intuitive character might reduce suspicion, as well as find a plausible scapegoat." Upon completing his response, Finch rises to get his jacket and Bear's leash.

"And the doc," Reese asks in reprove. This time, he sees Dr. Hazlitt heading towards the sofa while Mrs. Fletcher remains seated at her desk.

"A highly skilled physician can make a death appear natural with the proper injections," is the answer Finch offers.

"But wouldn't that be redundant, since both can pull off a murder alone?"

"Perhaps they need each other to provide a suitable alibi," says Finch as he heads downstairs with Bear. "However, I still have an open mind until we view the entire picture. But what _does_ intrigue me is your persistence in the matter concerning their innocence," Finch adds this remark inquisitively. He finds this very unusual of Reese to have a positive presumption about an opaque case.

"Is there something you wouldn't mind sharing, Mr. Reese?"

"Let's just say it's a pretty good hunch," he responds with a curved lip.

"Well, hunch or no, we still need to look at this matter more closely before we can draw any definite conclusions."

"Couldn't agree more, Finch."

"As fortune provides," Finch continues, "the adjacent apartment is available, and they allow pets. I intend to pass myself as a new tenant, and converse with the neighbors."

"Glad you decided to take Bear for this assignment." Reese knows Finch was originally uncomfortable about having Bear in the Library with him, but as time passed, he began to notice how Finch gradually appreciates the dog's company.

"It is always prudent to be prepared for any possible threats," Finch states plainly as he makes his way to the exit, "Besides, Bear needs his morning walk."

* * *

"Oh my goodness," Jessica gasps as she rises out of her chair to stretch, "I think if I stay seated any longer, my joints will lock into place, and I'd become a statue."

"That's arthritis for you, Jess," Seth's voice emanates from the sofa, "I keep telling you to pick up a prescription." Seth turns to face Jessica, who is making her way to the kitchen, grabbing a teacup from the cupboard to pour some tea from the hot kettle on the stove.

After she fills her cup, she makes her way to the living room and sits in the chair beside the sofa, taking a small sip in the process. Realizing what she had done, Jessica looks at Seth, and both share a good laugh before she decides to rise up again and walk around the room, stretching those stiff muscles of hers.

"You know, Seth, you're probably right."

"I'm sorry," Seth replies, parting his interlocked hands and resting them on the couch to turn and face Jess, "did I miss something? I am right about what?"

"About what you said earlier, how we seem to have less energy than we used to as we get older. I mean," She chuckles, "It's starting to make sense. I am less aware of what's going on around me, I seem to make as much progress in editing my book in a day as I would in an hour, my joints are beginning to stiffen more easily, and already," she now huffs in bewilderment, "I feel as if I could use a nap. And it's only past eleven!"

"Now, calm down, Jess. There is no need to be hard on yourself, or worked up over something you can't blame yourself for," Seth says this as he elevates himself to face Jessica directly, "all you can do about it is analyze, make a few adjustments, and give yourself more time to recuperate."

Jessica listens intently to what the good doctor has to say, and is about to ask him how _he_ adjusts to this predicament, when they both hear a voice out in the hall. They head toward the door so that they can make out who is talking outside. Jessica recognizes the voice as the landlord's, and takes a look through the peephole. She can barely make out the back of a figure to her left, but notices a dog on a leash, lingering around its master. She makes a note of the fact that it is a Belgian shepherd pure bred; the kind used by FBI and SWAT teams as attack dogs, and is also trained to find explosives and illegal substance.

"Jess, what's going on," Seth asks in a low whisper.

"It's Stanley, the landlord," she answers, "I think he's showing the open apartment next door."

"You never told me there is a vacant apartment on this floor," Seth exclaims, almost giving them away.

"Seth," Jess snaps under her breath, "Please be quiet. We don't want them to know we're…" but then she cuts herself off, realizing that they are eavesdropping without a good reason to be suspicious. Just wondering who the other person could be seems to give her an excuse to be inquisitive. In fact, she is almost forgetting about the conversation she and Seth were having.

"Oh, Seth, look at us. Isn't it like us to eavesdrop for no reason like a couple of old people?"

"Aren't you forgetting, Jessica, that we **are** a couple of old people," Seth asks _her_ in response to her question, "Besides, last I checked, you've **always** been this curious."

Seth's last remark makes her realize that she is, indeed, returning to her normal self. As a matter of fact, she is not feeling tired anymore. As if these turn of events rejuvenated her curiosity of what is going on right outside her door. She cannot describe it, but she seems to have a feeling that there is something more to this possible new tenant than meets the eye. She then decides that instead of eavesdropping, she should approach this person directly, and offer a generous invitation for tea.

"Jess," Seth chimes, "you're getting that look again."

Jessica slightly opens the door, leaving only a crack to peep through. She sees that the adjacent apartment door is open, and hears Stanley conversing with the stranger inside. Just then, Stanley walks out, turns to the unseen stranger, and says how he looks forward to having a new tenant. Realizing that they have already come to an agreement, Jessica decides to wait until Stanley departs to introduce Seth and herself to their new neighbor.

Suddenly, she could make out the silhouette of a figure of moderate height, and hears a distinctive male voice emanating from the figure, saying how he is likewise looking forward to "new developments in this communal setting." She detects a certain level of steadiness in his tone, not to mention only a slight hint of enthusiasm, indicating a man who expresses little, or moderates his emotions. As soon as Stanley is out of ear and sight, Jessica walks outside, and heads toward the door marked 4D, with a puzzled Seth trailing closely behind her.

Jessica knocks on the door, only to hear a loud bark in response, which startles her. But shortly after, the door opens, revealing a man of peculiar features: his bright, blue eyes are wide and slightly narrow, each underneath an acute, triangular arch-like eyebrow, his nose straight and sharp, almost as if it were a beak. The bridge of his nose is holding a pair of round, thin-framed spectacles, like those of Benjamin Franklin. His hair is short, and stands vertically, giving it a bristly appearance. The long sideburns also appear bristle. His lips seem thin and narrow, and his jaw bone square and even, and by the looks of his complexion, he seems to have spent most of his time indoors at an office space than anywhere else.

"Hello," he states evenly, and kindly, "I'm guessing you're my new neighbors."

Receiving the man's kind greeting with a smile, Jessica affirms his assumption and offers her hand.

"I'm Jessica Fletcher, and this is my friend…" she turns to direct his attention to Seth, but is cut off by the doctor as he introduces himself.

"Seth Hazlitt," he states abruptly and to the point as he offers his hand, "I'm just visiting from out of town." The man takes Seth's hand and shakes it with a small smile, and warmly introduces himself, "Harold Linnet."


	3. Three: Making New Friends

**Dear randomitegirl:** Thank you for sending the first review to my story. Your comment on Jessica's initiative is comforting, but also gives me pressure to ensure I don't disappoint. Which in itself is a good way to inspire me to do the best I can. So, Double Thanks! P.S. If you would like to become familiar with Jessica and Seth's friendship, I suggest watching the last two episodes of season 5, as well as season 11 episode "The Scent of Murder," as well as my main inspiration, season 11 episode "Film Flam," Guest Starring Jim Caviezel. I hope you enjoy reading as much as I enjoy writing. Thanks again, and God Bless!

**Disclaimer:** I've decided to begin writing disclaimers at the start of each chapter from now, on. I do not claim right of ownership for any of the shows' characters, premises, plot references, nor do I claim the right to sell this content for profit. This is purely unprofitable fiction. All rights belong to CBS, Warner Bros., Universal, Bad Robot Prod., etc.

Three

Making New Friends

After an extensive analysis on his behavior towards these most recent Persons of Interest, but more particularly towards Fletcher, the Machine begins to look back and collect data from all records to detect any intersections between Fletcher and Admin 2. Admin 1 is not the only entity that notices the recent anomalies that are emanating from Admin 2. So it decides to browse through his file, from his employment records that it acquired from infiltrating CIA archives, to his military records in the U.S. Army. It also examines archives from any police force in the world that match Admin 2's description, in case he ever possessed a criminal record prior to his employment with the Agency. While doing so, the Machine retrieves its collected data on Fletcher, to see if she and Admin 2 were ever in the same location during the same time-frame.

The Machine organizes its compiled information by chronological order, sifting through both of their activities annually. It first filters through activities in the year 2012, then through year 2011, and continues to repeat the process with each year prior to their present location.

2010…2009…2008…200_...1999…

Until it detects a criminal file of a man that matches Admin 2's description, only younger, in 1994, by the false identity of Darryl Harding who was picked up in Los Angeles, California, to be charged, and tried in the U.S. Army courts system on charge of smuggling illegal substance, desertion, and use of forged identification. Evidence found during his disappearance supported his defense, which claimed that he was framed, evidence that would have gone unnoticed if the investigation had not been prompted to look more deeply due to his disappearance. Fortunately, the man was acquitted of all charges, the latter two of which were removed for the sake of acquiring men for deployment due to the rising involvement of NATO forces in Bosnia & Herzegovina.

Before his capture, the Machine detects "Harding's" location in Los Angeles at Monolith Studio, in February of 1994. The Machine connects that with Fletcher's location: at the same studio during that time period, visiting a film producer named Boyce Brown for a film screening while on her way to San Diego for a philanthropic book signing. Next, the Machine goes through security footage in the studio where the two are seen together, as well as where "Harding" was most present.

It picks up "Harding's" movements to his central location in Stage 25, where he seemed to have established residence without knowledge or consent of the local security of the grounds. It then infiltrates into the recorded security feeds, now digitalized, and placed in computer archives by recent technological advancements.

The Machine then watches footage from a camera that overlooks a section in the studio, where it identifies "Harding," with Admin 2's yellow box, walking in the studio towards a table with a large, white sheet, a coffee pot, and a disposable foam cup on top. "Harding" is seen pouring coffee from the pot into the cup, and walking to a portable refrigerator to grab some edible contents in a translucent container. After which, he is seen sitting on a sofa, also covered in a sheet, placing his nutritional substance upon his lap, and picking up a newspaper.

* * *

Darryl Harding, with his cup of coffee in his right hand, and the newspaper of the _Daily Variety_ in his left, reads the headline: **TOOLING UP FOR DREAMWORKS – Ambitious blueprint envisions 3 pix in '96, first toon by '98**. That is all he is able to read, for he then hears a stage door open with a creek, which is followed by male voices growing louder with each passing moment. To avoid detection, Darryl puts down the paper, gets up from the sofa, places his coffee and dinner onto the table, and crawls through the sheet, and underneath the table.

He barely passes through the sheet in time to hear the voices emanating from above him, and the table. He begins to pick up on what the voices are discussing:

"There isn't a completed print of _Cry of Destiny_ available," says one voice.

"Hey, we're sitting on an order for twenty-seven thousand video cassettes," replies another voice, "of six thousand from yesterday, and climbing. Cash on the line, you know? We're getting antsy."

"Plus I got a lab blocking time for us out of _my_ pocket," adds a third, while the second seems to be dialing a number on his cellular phone. He reaches someone on the other line.

"Yeah, this is Hank Duncan. I want a pass for 9 a.m. tomorrow… Main Gate… uh, for Miss Barbie Lippin. See, Ron Seymour cast…Oh." Hank ends the call.

"Fringe benefits," asks the third member of the group with a smirk.

"Now, Carson," Hank continues to the first man, "these people don't care if they get the released version, you know? Every film nut in the world is drooling to get a look at _Cry of Destiny_."

"We borrow the film negative, and make our own copy, that's all we need," says the third man. The response that Hank and his partner get is a huff from Carson, who says, "I don't know. I don't know guys. This past year security has gotten really tight… I can't do this anymore." Carson is about to leave the stage, when the other men stand in front of him, blocking his path. The third man begins to talk again, and with a slightly menacing tone.

"Uh, Mr. Robbins, let me explain something, okay?" Detecting the change in tone from the man, Darryl dares to take a peak from under the sheet to see him place his hand on his hip, while moving his jacket to reveal a revolver.

"I mean, I can understand how a guy in your position cannot understand the concept. But Hank and I, we've got personal financial obligations, serious ones." At this moment, Darryl is no longer curious to find out what happens next, and quickly lowers the sheet.

"Real, 'people' ones," the man adds. At this, Carson yields, saying, "Alright, alright…I'll do what I can."

"Wait," Hank says under his breath, "this stage hasn't been used in a month." His partner looks at him with a shrug, as if to say "So?"

"How come I smell coffee," is Hank's response. All three men then turn to face the table, while Hank's partner draws out his weapon. Hank walks over to it, and places his hand above the steaming cup. Feeling that it is still warm, he bends down and pulls back the sheet, exposing the empty space underneath. He begins to raise his head to look around, when they all hear the shutting of a door from where they entered.

* * *

After viewing the footage from Stage 25, the Machine then fast forwards to 2012 back to New York City, and infiltrates a camera in the fourth floor hallway of Fletcher's apartment building. Here, it perceives both Fletcher and Hazlitt in front of the door of 4D, facing Admin 1.

* * *

"I apologize if my dog startled you," Harold says after formalities were complete, "As a trained dog, he only barks from anxiety."

"Oh, that's quite alright," Jessica replies, "I can understand that he is a little anxious about his new environment, full of different people and odors."

"Well, I must say," Seth exclaims as he notices the Belgian shepherd coming from behind the door, and sitting at the foot of his master, "He seems to be a fine specimen. How well is he trained?"

"Oh, very well, Mr. Hazlitt," answers Harold, as he slightly twists his body to face down toward the dog, as if his entire upper body were inflexible. "He is specifically trained to alert and protect me from an attacker, as well as obey specific commands."

"Well, he certainly sounds like a faithful companion," Jess says with a smile towards the dog, receiving a sudden yelp from the dog as a response, frightening her again. He does this as he rises up on all fours, and then backs away with a whine.

"Bear, foei! Af liggen," says Harold sternly. The dog, obviously Bear, suddenly returns to a sitting position, and silently looks up to his master. Although he begins to turn his head to look around anxiously, Bear remains still and silent at his place like a statue.

"Well," Seth gasps in awe, "I must say, that is one well-trained animal."

"Yes," Jess says in agreement, with equal surprise. She then turns to face Harold and asks, "Are those commands in Dutch, Mr. Linnet?" Harold first gives his own look of amazement at Jessica's intuitive knowledge in such things, and answers, "Why yes, Ms. Fletcher, but how did you know?"

"I, um, did some research on attack dogs bred and brought up by the FBI, and how they're trained to obey specific commands by their masters, especially in a foreign language." After still receiving a perplexed expression from Harold, she continues, "You see, it's a part of what I do. I'm a writer."

"She is mystery writer J. B. Fletcher," Seth announces with admiration and pride for his friend, "Perhaps you've heard of her?"

"Fletcher," Harold says lightly, "Yes, I believe I'm familiar with that penname."

"Well, that's hardly important," Jessica cuts in, reminding herself the purpose of her visit, "I was hoping you might come by and have some tea with us before you start moving in." She receives a confused look from Seth before hearing Harold's reply: "Why yes, thank you very much, Ms. Fletcher. My luggage isn't due to arrive yet, so I would certainly like to spend some time with my new neighbors." Jessica notices a small, but warm smile emanating from his face, as if it he rarely smiles at all, smiles back, and turns to lead the way. But not before she politely informs him to call her Jessica.

"And you may call me Seth, though I am otherwise known as _Doctor_ Hazlitt."

"Harold," is the gentle reply they hear, as they escort their new neighbor down the hall to Jessica's apartment.

* * *

Mr. Finch continues with the new neighbor façade as he limps his way to 4E, trailing right behind Fletcher and Hazlitt. But before he does so, he lets Bear out, shuts and locks the door, and summons Bear to follow.

He notices Fletcher's observance of his actions, and detects a sense of inquiry from her facial expressions. He has been making mental notes on her behavior as well, and suspects that her invitation is more than a friendly gesture, that she has an ulterior reason for inviting him. Finch decides to play along, and to use this to his advantage by gaining more intelligence about these two from entering into her own apartment. And to be safe, he brings Bear along with him, for after his experience in the Jordan Hester case, he is extra cautious of what he is given to drink by his host. Finch feels he was fortunate that the imposter did not give him an overdose to kill him immediately. And by having Bear around, he is able to feel a little safer – _a little_.

Fletcher's knowledge on Bear's training and the manner of his obedience, reminds Finch of her vast knowledge on such matters involving criminal investigations. Such knowledge prompts him to remain extremely careful still, for he is still uncertain if he is associating with victims or perpetrators, and he still fears to be among the wrong sort of people at the wrong time.

"Relax, Finch," he hears Mr. Reese's voice from his earwig. Finch is already in Fletcher's apartment, and about to sit in the chair facing the sofa, where Hazlitt is sitting, as well as facing the kitchen, where Fletcher is pouring tea into a cup, both offering a friendly smile to him. Bear sits near his arm rest after he settles down in the chair.

"If I can see that you're nervous from out here," Reese continues to quip, "it's a good bet Fletcher might notice too."

"I must confess," Finch begins, partially ignoring his partner's humorous remark, "I'm not exactly known for moving around. So I find meeting different people in a new environment rather…unsettling."

"Oh, I know how that feels," Fletcher replies, as she makes her way from the kitchen, carrying a steaming cup. By the scent, Finch determines the contents to be black tea.

"When my husband and I first moved to Cabot Cove, that's up in Maine, I felt as if I were surrounded by total strangers." She carefully hands the cup over to Finch, who, after accepting it, casually waves the scent to Bear, appearing as though he himself were taking a whiff.

"But it's a small town," Hazlitt offers, "So you gradually became a full-fledged member of the community, as it were." After perceiving no reaction from Bear, Finch takes a very light sip.

"Yes, that's right," Fletcher responds, "Which is one of the benefits from living in a rural environment: a sense of community from everyone." She says this after pouring for herself another cupful from the pot, and takes a sip from it also. Noting that his cup was served exactly in that fashion, for he watched her pour from the pot without the slightest notion of adding anything from behind the counter, Finch gradually feels more confident about consuming the contents.

"Not that there is no sense of that in the city," Hazlitt adds for Finch's sake.

"No," Fletcher continues, "only in small amounts, such as those who live in the same apartment building, or go to the same school." Finch answers them both with a small nod, and a warm smile. They appear to be generally kind, as well as friendly and considerate. However, he hopes that Mr. Reese's so-called hunch about these two concerns more than just their manners.


	4. Four: Threat Assessment

**Disclaimer: **I do not claim of possessing any rights of creativity or profit from the characters and plot references. All creative and distributive rights belong to the rightful owners of their respective shows (Warner Bros., Universal, CBS, Bad Robot Prod., etc.). All content is purely nonprofitable and purely fan-made.

**Note:** The following scene with Jessica and Seth, is simply meant to portray Seth being a friend preventing Jess from getting distracted and procrastinating in finishing her new book, not to portray any male domination. Thank you for reading, and please enjoy this latest chapter. God Bless.

Four

Threat Assessment

The day nearly reaches its completion, as the sun, now illuminating behind fewer clouds, sets beneath the lofty buildings of this city that never sleeps. Light polls begin to illuminate the streets and sidewalks on the ground, and the shadows grow even darker and deeper within the alleys. Such an environment cultivates and nurtures fear within the hearts and minds of ordinary people, for the depravity of light encourages equally dark thoughts and intentions in others not so ordinary. It is not surprising that this environment could, and _has_ produced a homicide statistically every eighteen hours. At the end of the day, at least one person out of eight million will be violently murdered with hardly a moment's notice from the press, or anyone for that matter.

It is difficult to believe at first that Mr. Finch once felt that such cases with such a level of individuality were irrelevant. After reflecting on his personal loss, however, Finch has recognized the damage that the death of one person can bring, even if the damage does not meet the level of national security. This is why he constantly regrets his decision to make such a distinction, for although he refused to admit it, Finch practically dug their graves much prior to their horrific demise. He constantly feels that he made himself the jury, the judge, and the executioner, for the innocent as well as the guilty.

So now he knows what he must do, for since he is capable of acting out to protect people, to some extent, he has the duty and responsibility to do so. He knows he is not capable of redeeming himself for the lost opportunities he threw away, but Finch feels that he is showing those he let down how much he has come to recognize his wrongdoings. Even his inactions were failures of doing what is good and just. And what is more, he strives to become more than what he once was, which was an ignorant authoritarian.

Finch sits at his recently acquired desk, which was placed at the center of the living room, which is now full of storage boxes as well as a few luggage cases. The time that it took for the moving truck to arrive was longer than Finch had anticipated, and it took almost as much time to unload and haul everything into the empty apartment. He simply instructed the movers to place the items against the walls throughout the room, but more in front of the window, and to place the desk at the center, facing the door. All these boxes, except the desk, chair, and Bear's sleep cushion and dish, contain items of significantly low value to Finch, for they are simply for the use of his cover. In fact, the boxes and their contents are the same as they were when Mr. Reese went undercover in the suburbs with Miss Morgan.

After finally completing the moving process of his cover, he decides to have a seat at his desk, and return to work on his laptop. Finch hardly leaves his eyes off the monitor when he notices through his peripheral vision Bear lifting his head up to face the narrow hallway that leads to the empty bedrooms.

"I suppose I shouldn't inquire why you opted not to assist the movers," he says, as a looming figure emerges from the dark hallway.

"Didn't want to bother a couple of guys doing their jobs," it retorts humorously, "Besides, couldn't show myself moving around the hallway without raising even more suspicion from... _her_."

"Yes, I also noticed Mrs. Fletcher's inquisitive manner." He recalls the many questions that she raised during their conversation, though she did very well to appear as one getting to know a new neighbor. Perhaps that is because that was her intention, to an extent. It was Hazlitt who confirmed Finch's thoughts about her, by the puzzled facial expressions that the doctor directed toward her.

"She watched through the peephole almost the entire time, even before she decided to meet you." Reese kept tabs on their behavior since Finch moved in, and after Fletcher finally returned to her desk, he placed a suctioned webcam over the edge of the building, and watched it on his smartphone on his way here.

"But I guess it looks suspicious if anyone pays the landlord more than handsomely to stay without signing a lease, or asking any questions."

"It appears that we must use additional caution for this particular case once again," Finch continues, ignoring Reese's witty remark, and recalling how difficult it was for him to blue-jack Hazlitt's cell phone. Not to mention placing a bug under the coffee table without detection. It reminds him how they had to protect an exceptional news journalist without exposing their operations to the media through her.

Just then, Finch feels his phone vibrating on the desk. Recognizing the identification of who is transmitting, he answers, and places the call on speaker.

"Yes, Detective, what have you uncovered?"

* * *

Accustomed to Finch's promptness and straight-forward manner, Detective Jocelyn Carter of homicide division speaks with an equally, but sturdier, promptness in reply.

"Well, knowing how you guys know about…almost everything, I'll just focus on the particulars." She opens a manila folder that contains reports and statements from a recent case.

"Last week Mrs. Fletcher came to fill out a witness statement about a hit-and-run. A woman named Alex Thorne. She was killed on impact."

"Was Mrs. Fletcher able to identify the driver?" She chuckles, knowing how to answer Finch's question.

"She practically gave the whole report to the captain." Carter even recalls the many times Fletcher was in the captain's office, and how red his face became after each session with her.

"She identified the driver to be Chris Petrovsky, and judging by his last name I'm sure you can guess who he works for."

"Peter Yogorov," Finch replies.

"Yeah, the Head of the Russian Mafia," Carter finishes his thought, recalling with a shudder how he took over the family business after Elias killed his father.

"So she helps put one of Yogorov's lieutenants behind bars," Carter hears a familiar, gruff voice, "Is she going to testify?"

"I was getting there, John," she answers, "Mrs. Fletcher is scheduled to testify next month. I know, quicker than usual, even for a small-claims court."

"Any sort of witness protection," Finch asks her.

"I remember hearing about the dispatch from the captain. But if you guys are calling, I'm guessing there is none."

"Sounds like something HR would do," says John.

"It wouldn't be a surprise, considering that certain members still remain unaccounted for," is Finch's reply in his usual, plain manner. Carter still remembers the FBI sweep of any corrupt officers in the city, which was led by Special Agent Donnelly. However, she still believes they did not capture all of them, especially the boss. Yes they arrested Landon Walker, but she could not shake off this feeling that the FBI did not arrest the true head of HR, as if Walker were a scapegoat.

"They may be trying to make a deal with the Russians to rebuild," Carter offers, "Silence the witness in exchange for support."

"And with Dr. Hazlitt visiting, he may be considered a loose end that needs to be dealt with," Finch adds. By the sound of this remark, Carter detects that they have what they need, and her suspicions are confirmed by Finch's expression of gratitude before he disconnects.

She, in turn, disconnects her phone as she folds up the case file and departs from the vacant interview room that is near her desk. After placing the folder near her desktop, she takes her seat and sees her partner sitting at the desk opposite to her.

"So. How's our Dynamic Duo," he asks, after he turns from his computer.

"Busy, as usual," she answers, with a slightly discomforting huff. Catching his partner's response, Detective Lionel Fusco gives a slight nod and returns to his work.

* * *

By the time they completed their discussion with Detective Carter, Finch intercepted all security feeds of the building on his laptop. He then narrows down the numerous cameras to eight: the main entrance, the two side exits, the stair wells that lead to them, the elevator, the fourth floor hallway, and the camera Mr. Reese placed across the street.

Reese briefly watches the feed of his portable camera to see that Fletcher is still at her desk and Hazlitt on the sofa reading a book.

"Got any more doubts about them, Finch?"

"Now that you mention it, Mr. Reese, after receiving further information from their email and social network accounts, which was slightly sufficient, they can be confirmed as the victims." Finch recalls how Mrs. Fletcher only has fans and fellow authors on her Facebook account, and only sends and receives messages to and from her editors and publishers on her email. He also noticed how she does not even have a cell phone for him to blue-jack. As for Dr. Hazlitt, he only has an email account containing messages from patients, who were scheduling and affirming their appointments. And after hacking into Fletcher's computer memory logs through the signal of his bug, he is unable to detect any anomalies that might indicate either of them to be a threat.

"It would seem that your… insights concerning them were accurate, to say the least."

Detecting his partner's inquisitive hesitation, Reese looks down at him and smirks, saying, "Well, I've been working on my people skills as well, Finch." After sending a side glance from his station, Finch replies, "I suppose all that remains now is to wait." They both observe the camera feeds with extensive care, as they see their neighbors gradually rising from their respective places to turn in.

* * *

The Machine shifts its vantage point to a camera on the rooftop facing aerial activity, and fast-forwards on the camera feed to the next morning, in which rainclouds are seen reforming, making the same bleak morning as before. It then returns its view to the feed of Admin 2's portable camera, and observes the activity inside the window across the way.

* * *

"Seth, where do you think you're going," asks a surprised voice behind the good doctor, who is retrieving his hat and raincoat from the rack by the front door.

"We're low on groceries," he replies, "I'm going to the store to fetch some more."

"Well then I'll go with you. Just wait until I…" Jessica begins to get her coat and umbrella before Seth interrupts her.

"I'm sorry, but that is out of the question." He knows that any chance she gets is to have an excuse to leave her book editing. And as her friend, Seth feels he should help her with a few things around the apartment, so as not to let her distract herself from completing her book, especially after yesterday.

"You are to **stay here** and work on your editing, while I go out and take care of the groceries." He says this as he opens the door to the hallway.

"And you are **especially** not to snoop around while I am gone."

"Oh, Seth" Jess chuckles in response, "You know me all too well."

"Now I mean it," he says sternly, "As your friend, I need to be sure you steer clear of **all distractions** to finish your book. And that means no more _**inquiries**_ about the new neighbor, at least for now that is."

"Alright, Seth," is the yielding reply that he receives from her, "I promise not to distract myself at all today."

"Well that is excellent to hear." Seth says this as he walks out into the hall. He then turns to face Jessica, and tells her that he will return shortly before he closes the door behind him.

After a few seconds, Jessica decides to take a peek into the peephole to see if Seth has left. Instead, she sees the magnified and distorted face of her friend the doctor. Realizing that she has been made, Jess opens the door and laughingly says, "Alright, you proved your point."

Seth gets a good chuckle from the prank he pulled on her as well, before he returns to his stern, grouchy-physician self.

"Now I **do** mean it this time," he says.

"Alright, Seth," she relents, but notices that he is not leaving until he is completely convinced. Jess returns to her desk and faces her computer. It is not until he sees her turn it on that he again closes the door.

* * *

After following Hazlitt's movements through the hall, down the elevator, and out the main lobby, the Machine sees him making a right turn, heading towards a local grocery store. It also observes Admin 2 walking a moderate distance away from him. It is after the Machine shifts its view to an alleyway camera that it spots three figures dressed in dark clothing intercepting Hazlitt, and casually bringing him into the alley.

* * *

It is still too early in the dark, autumn morning for anyone to be able to see well in the alley without the proper lighting. But for Mr. Reese, his vision adjusts rather quickly after he made his way to the dark alley as fast as he could, pressing his earwig in the process.

"Finch, it's happening now." He waits at the corner of the building, weapon drawn, as he listens to hear the flustered voice of Dr. Hazlitt.

"What is the meaning of this?"

"Now listen, Doc," says the voice of a man who seems slightly irritated, "my bosses are getting tired of waiting around, waiting for an answer, okay? So they decided to give you a choice, either you help us get what they want, or we get it without you."

"I do not** appreciate** your tone there, son," answers Hazlitt, "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're just a bunch of **mentally disordered, disrespecting juveniles** throwing empty threats."

"Oh this isn't a threat, Doc," Reese hears the voice again, obviously the one in charge of this group. Just then, he hears the cocking of two pistols, and weaves out into the open to take aim.

Seeing that two of the three are armed with handguns, Mr. Reese aims and fires at their knees before they can react to his presence. However, this alerts their leader, whom Reese sees fleeing deeper into the darkness of the alley. Not wanting to take any risks, he quickly grabs hold of the stunned and baffled old doctor, and guides him back into the main street. People begin to walk out of the buildings to head to their respective workplaces when the shots were fired. They gasp and mumble to each other and call the police in response. But Reese casually blends into the growing crowd with Dr. Hazlitt, and speaks through his earwig.

"Finch, looks like we got this mixed up. The doc is the primary target, not Fletcher."

* * *

Finch barely makes sense of the situation that he listened to on Seth's phone slightly before Reese spoke to him the second time. He then turns his focus back to the security feeds on his laptop, and notices three groups of two armed men each, wearing ski masks, each in the stairwells and the elevator.

"Mr. Reese," he mutters in shock, "I'm afraid we have another problem."


	5. Five: Eliminating Criminal Activity

**Disclaimer**: I do not own the creative and distributive rights of the characters or plot references in this story. This is purely, fan-made, unprofitable fiction. All rights belong to the shows' respective companies (CBS, Warner Bros., Universal, Bad Robot Prod., etc.).

Five

Eliminating Criminal Activity

After viewing the two parties on the verge of intertwining, the Machine reverts out of the present situation in 2012, and back to the collected data on **Monolith Studio, 1994** in its memory banks. It picks up on the day after the screening of _Cry of Destiny_, when the murdered body of Fritz Randall, the film's executive producer, was discovered by Jessica Fletcher that morning. Later that day, leading detective of the investigation, Lieutenant Gabriel Caceras, gathered evidence to suspect that Elaine Brown, Randall's co-executive producer and daughter of Boyce Brown, was the perpetrator due creative differences between them. According to the seating arrangement on the roster for the screening, Elaine Brown was assigned to sit adjacent to Randall. The investigation also found a few sleeping pills that fell under his seat, when the perpetrator was placing them into his wine glass during the screening. Both substances were found in his system, which were the cause of death.

However, after breaching into the recorded statement of Jessica Fletcher, the Machine gathers that Brown was not sitting alongside Randall, but instead, further in front, next to Darryl Harding. However, Lieutenant Caceras was unable to locate Harding, who would be able to support Fletcher's statement on Brown's location during the screening. The Machine then observes Fletcher's promptness to locate Harding, which she attained after making a few inquiries among the film's cast and crew. It then spots her entering Stage 25, where she concluded was Harding's whereabouts. It shifts to the inside camera of the stage to see Fletcher slowly walking through the sets and props placed all around the stage.

* * *

Jessica walks around in the stage, trying to detect any movement or sound from behind the sets and props. As she is walking past them, she calmly calls out, "Darryl? Darryl? Elaine is in a lot worse trouble than you'll be if you reveal yourself and help her." She then hears footsteps twenty, or thirty feet in front of her, and then notices a figure lurking in the shadows, slowly coming into the light and closer to her.

The tall, young man she recognizes as Darryl Harding has plain, yet subtle facial features, with dark brown hair of moderate length, as well as a smooth, thoroughly tanned complexion. The blue eyes and square brows emanate a man who appears mature and deep, yet also frightened, as if he has endured a life of hardships.

"I…I wish that were true, Mrs. Fletcher," says a soft, mellow voice emanating from the figure. Sensing the gravitas in the man's tone, Jessica shakes her head, and decides to change the subject and looks around.

"I like your digs. How long have you been living here?"

"Oh, a couple months; I, uh, lost my day job. I had to give up my apartment in town. Then the next day I got into a lot for a casting call," then he turns to face the set background of a western, dessert landscape, "And I found this. I know it's not exactly the Beverly Hills Hotel, but the view's pretty good."

After following his gaze at the background, and smiling at his subtle humor, Jessica turns to face him again, asking, "What is it you're so frightened of, Darryl?" He briefly looks down at the floor, and then returns to his mellow expression before answering her.

"I know about some criminal activity, here at the studio. It's pretty serious." This prompts a more inquisitive and more deeply concerned expression from Jess, as she also ponders what else this young man has been through.

* * *

At the very mention of "serious criminal activity," the Machine fast-forwards later in the evening, in the studio editing room. A silhouette is seen at the doorway, which turns to flip a light switch to illuminate the man at the door, and the other participants inside. It recognizes the plump man with the revolver carrying a metal briefcase, Carson, the bald man with glasses, sitting alongside the ginger Hank Duncan and his brunette girlfriend Barbie Lippin.

* * *

Hank's partner walks into the editing room. Noticing his compatriots, he tells them that the film negatives have been returned to the vault. As he turns to see his partner's girlfriend he complains, "Her again?"

"Hey, relax man, she's just working for me," Hank answers irritably, "You think I would have brought her if she wasn't okay?" The partner looks at him while he places the briefcase onto the table in front of them, still feeling anxious by her presence. After briefly staring at Hank and looking at Barbie, he then turns to open the case. Inside is a stack full of wrapped up bills that appear to be beyond count.

"Two hundred fifty, thousand dollars," he announces to the group, "Against seven hundred fifty next week, and perhaps even more. The buzz on this picture's unbelievable." He then looks at all their greedily animated expressions, and Hank looks at an ecstatic Barbie saying, "What did I tell you?"

"Orders for video cassettes are pouring in," he continues happily, "China, the Middle-East, Europe. I've never seen anything like it."

"Me neither," says Barbie in agreement, "Listen, my people need to get names of your people so that…"

"Police!"

They hear the exclaimed announcement, followed by a clicking of firearms behind them. They then turn to see Lieutenant Caceras and two other police officers with their weapons raised and at the ready.

"Freeze," Caceras commands. Then watching the woman reach for something in her handbag he warns, "I wouldn't , lady." Then he notices her pulling out a badge up to their eye level, where he can see a hint of annoyance arising from the woman's face.

"Sergeant Barbara Warshaw. LAPD, Industrial Theft," she announces, receiving a confused exchange between Hank and his partner.

Turning his weapon away from her, and towards the others, Caceras exhales both in relief and embarrassment, and says, "Sorry."

"Yeah, you're sorry," Warshaw nods as she removes a tape recorder from her purse as well, "Another minute I would have had the names of their overseas contacts." This prompts another look of embarrassment from Caceras as she turns to face Hank with a look of sarcastic empathy.

"Sorry, pumpkin."

* * *

Upon completing its observations from this exchange, the Machine returns to 2012, and focuses through a New York street camera to watch Admin 2 gently, but quickly guiding Hazlitt by the arm through the morning crowds.

* * *

"Mr. Reese," he hears Finch's alarmed tone from his earwig, "three teams of two armed men are en route to the fourth floor from the elevator and stairs." Reese detects Finch panting for breath, as if he were on the move.

"I'm about to attain Mrs. Fletcher to buy some time."

"I'm on my way," he replies before he disconnects the transmission.

"What is this," the doctor exclaims, finally breaking out of his stunned silence, "Who are you? And **what on earth** is this about?"

* * *

Jessica is near completion of editing the fifth chapter when she hears a rapid knock on the door. Upon hearing the knock promptly repeated, she hurriedly walks to the door and answers it. She sees an alarmed Harold, panting as he snatches her arm.

"Forgive me, Mrs. Fletcher," he says as he hastily guides her to the open door of his apartment, limping with more ferocity as he goes, "But I'm afraid your life is in danger." She stammers in confusion, uncertain of what to make of this sudden turn of events. Before she is finally aware that she has not resisted his grip, Jessica notices that Harold led her to his recently acquired apartment. He releases her as he turns to shut the door and bolt it.

"Harold," she gasps in shock, "what on earth is going on?"

"There's no time to explain," is his response, "we need to hide."

* * *

The two men who took the elevator are waiting for the other teams to rendezvous with them in the fourth floor hallway. As soon as all six are present, they inform each other that they encountered no one, and then break into the woman's apartment. After checking every room in the apartment, one man, who seems to be the team leader, notices her computer still on, and not on screensaver.

"She's still on this floor," he announces, "Spread out, and check every apartment."

"What if someone calls the cops," asks one.

"Don't worry," he replies, "I cut the phone lines to the whole building and jammed all the cell phone signals when we made it up. Now let's move! And don't kill anyone unless I get news from our messenger boy."

They all spread out, and each breaks down an individual door, which follows by a few shrieks and colorful interjections. The leader waits out in the hall, watching for anyone trying to escape.

One of them breaks into 4D and sees the piles of moving boxes, luggage and furniture in front of him. He turns to the left and investigates the kitchen area, then begins to check the bedrooms to the right. He is about to enter the small, dark hallway leading to them, when he suddenly hears a growl coming towards him.

Before he knows it, he is on the floor with a ferocious dog grabbing his arm by the jaw, growling as it wrestles with him. His grunts and shouts for help alert his teammates to his location. They all raise their weapons, trying to get a clear shot of the dog without hurting their comrade.

"I wouldn't do that, fellas," says a low, menacing voice from behind them, as one of them is immobilized by the slam of a fist. Another turns to aim at the tall stranger, but he only gets to see his attacker wearing a nice suit before he is also knocked unconscious. Next the stranger ducks low to avoid a punch from another, and then counters with one to the groin. But after he head-butts the third assailant, a fourth grabs him from behind. Elbowing him in the ribcage, the stranger breaks free, and twists the man's arm.

With the palm of his free hand, the stranger slams the back of the head, and renders the man unconscious as well. Noticing the dog still having a hold of the fifth man's arm on the floor, he commands, "Bear, loslaten."

With that, the dog releases in obedience and returns to the dark hallway in haste, leaving the injured man to groan on the floor and nurse his arm. The stranger lifts him up, and throws one last punch to knock him out also.

* * *

Reese straightens his suit and jacket, and rolls his shoulders and neck to loosen up the tension in his muscles. Then he turns to see Finch limping his way towards him, with Bear in front, and Mrs. Fletcher behind him.

"Where's Dr. Hazlitt," Finch asks.

"I told him to wait outside the door."

"But I told you there were six," Finch interjects with concern. But Reese curves his lips with a smirk and says, "I know."

They leave the broken down door to see Dr. Hazlitt stare with dumbstruck stillness. When they follow his gaze, they see the sixth man, the leader, lying on the floor moaning and nursing his knee. Having then the look of bewilderment from all present, including a couple of tenants peeking out of their broken doors, Reese answers with a wide grin, saying, "What can I say? I love silencers."

* * *

After departing from the building to the adjacent parking structure, and watching Harold opening the door to a black Cadillac, Jessica turns to see his partner, who is still watching for any more threats, then to her friend Seth, who is as equally shocked as she is.

She turns back to see Harold let Bear in the back seat, and waiting for her to enter inside as well. Noticing then how the stranger opens the passenger door on the other side for Seth, she suddenly breaks the silence while staring directly at Harold: "Listen, Harold, you two might have stopped those men from causing us harm, but you can't expect us to come quietly without an explanation for all of this."

Seeing how Harold only relaxes his shoulders, exhales, and maintains his composure prior to his response, Jess senses a grave tone in his manner, reminding her of someone else who once gave her that feeling.

"Rest assured, Mrs. Fletcher, my partner and I will be as cooperative as possible in answering your questions. But in the meantime…" but Harold is cut off by the sudden ringing of bullets coming from the left.

"Get in," grunts the stranger as he and Harold quickly put Jessica and Seth into the car. Watching Harold crouching low as he stiffly makes his way to the driver's seat, Jessica, in her lying position, notices the contorted expression of his face, as if he were sensing pain from moving with his stiff back in such a position. She then turns her head to look up the back window to see the stranger return fire from his weapon with precision, and a subtle expression of tenacity in his eyes and stiffened jaw.

When she notices him ceasing fire and heading towards the front passenger seat, Jess turns back to the original source of the firefight and sees two men lying on the ground nursing their legs and shoulders. Then she sees Harold starting the car, pulling out of the parking space, and driving at furious speeds out of the structure, and slowing down to blend into the morning traffic.

As soon as they are several blocks from the apartment building, Jessica finally breaks her concentration of staring blankly out of the window. She then becomes appalled by the sight of all this violence that has happened this morning, but also realizes that without Harold and his partner's intervention, she and Seth might not be alive at this present moment. She then turns to face Seth, who is also staring out the window, and reaches over Bear to rest her hand on his shoulder, getting a startling jump in response.

Seth turns to look back at her, and offers her a weak smile, like the one he gave her yesterday morning after their heartfelt discussion. _My, that suddenly feels like a long time ago_, she thinks to herself. But instead of saying anything, she simply smiles back at Seth, and both feel slightly comforted from the whole ordeal.

* * *

Harold unlocks the door to an apartment of the building that he drove them to, and pushes it open to reveal a wide, empty space, with a kitchen and dining table at the far right corner, and stairs to another floor on the other side. As soon as she walks in from behind Harold and Bear, Jessica looks onward to see the sun setting over Central Park outside a set of windows with rotating shades.

"Where are we," she hears Seth asking from behind, inquiring what sort of place they are in.

"Please remain calm, Dr. Hazlitt," answers Harold's soothing voice, "This is a safe house, where we will place you under protective care."

"Are you **positive** that whoever wants to kill us **cannot possibly** find us here?"

"Absolutely, Doctor."

After recalling the way Harold watched his rearview mirrors at any given opportunity, and how his partner turned over his shoulder to be a lookout for Harold, Jessica concludes that Harold's confidence is valid. She then hears the door shutting behind her, and turns to face the tall stranger in the dark suit and jacket, with dark hair and silver lining. By looking at his haircut, with its short sides and back, as well as its one-inch-tall, combed top, Jessica reasons that he was once a member of the United States Military. She confirms this by his manner of discharging a firearm, as well as his expertise in hand-to-hand combat.

Now turning back to Harold, she inquires on the living arrangements.

"The guest rooms are just upstairs, with pre-tailored clothes in the closets," he answers, once again plainly. Jess and Seth are not entirely certain on whether they are shocked to hear that he already has clothes lined for them, or that he already knew their measurements. In answer to their non-expressed question, Harold answers, "I simply sent your measurements to the best tailor in New York as I moved in."

"He's always prepared for anything," the stranger speaks for the first time in this entire trip. Both Seth and Jessica look at him with precautious glances, and he returns their gazes with a solidified, emotionless demeanor, until he offers a small curve of the lips to make as much a smile as possible. Turning back to Harold, Seth asks, "Is your protection detail **always** this quaint?"

"Oh, relax, Seth," Jess interjects, "He has kept us alive so far, and this place looks as comfortable as it is safe."

"Thanks, Mrs. Fletcher," the stranger says, still in a gruff voice, "Sure it's not exactly Staten Island, but the view's pretty good." As if she were struck with an iron club, Jessica looks back at the stranger with realization. Of course, the subtle face still expresses a mellow appearance, but the significant lack of emotion indicates that he experienced far more sufferings since last they spoke.

"Darryl?"


	6. Six: Questions and Answers

**Disclaimer**: I do not claim property ownership or distributive rights for any of the following material. This is pure, unprofitable fiction, with all characters and story references belonging to their respective companies (Universal, Warner Bros., CBS, Bad Robot Prod., Etc.).

Six

Questions and Answers

Seth Hazlitt looks at the contents of the refrigerator after opening the door. He sees inside an adequate supply of fruits, vegetables, meat and dairy products to last almost a month. _Perhaps they're expecting this situation to carry on for quite some time,_ he thinks, _though I hope it __**doesn't**_**. **He also notices that in the door shelves of the fridge are bottles containing vitamins and minerals, as well as his and Jessica's medical prescriptions. He looks over the refrigerator once again with a mildly surprised and significantly impressed expression on his face.

"My, my, it looks like Harold is **indeed** prepared for anything. Like that fellow, Darryl, or John – or **whatever-his-name-is** **said.**" Seth finishes that last sentence in the same flustered manner he had when he was practically dragged out of the alley, away from those brutes that nearly attacked him – that were attacked…

_How did all of this happen to begin with?_ Seth suddenly looks back at all the chaos and confusion that happened yesterday morning, when he was simply going to the store to buy some groceries for Jessica. How it all escalated became such a blur to him. First he was ambushed by three men in the alley, threatening him to coerce with them. Then a tall man in a well-tailored suit shot his assailants, with one of them escaping. The next thing he knew was the man in the suit taking him by the arm, talking as if he were a schizophrenic, and walking him back to the apartment building, only to see that same man shoot another in the knees, and hear him brutally confront several others in Harold's apartment.

It was bad enough that he and Jess were also shot at in the parking lot, and were moving around in a car almost the entire day, as well as brought to an unknown apartment building with only Central Park as their means of knowing their location. But the fact that Jess knows who Harold's partner is made Seth even more flustered. In fact, in retrospect he is surprised that he did not suffer a heart attack or stroke at all. Who knows what might happen to his – or Jessica's health even, if this escalates again? However, Seth finds it comforting that Harold even has food properly stored, as well as their medication ordered for them. So at least Harold and his friend brought them to a place where they can calm down as well as a safe place to hide.

Now as for this partner, Seth wonders how Jessica ever came to know such a man who seems violent and cold-blooded. Even hearing him talk sends chills down Seth's spine, especially when he seemed to make a humorous comment about using silencers. Whatever sort of work this man does, he obviously expresses a subtle sense of enjoyment or pleasure in it. But his intimidating demeanor also indicates someone who might be a professional killer. But he saved them, even though they are complete strangers to him, at least twice yesterday. But then he remembers how Jess is not a stranger to that man. It is almost as if he knows her from a previous murder case that she helped solve elsewhere during a book tour, or writers' conference. She always seems to make unusual friends wherever she goes, like that Michael character that was in MI6, or that former jewel thief turned insurance investigator named Stanton. And how can he forget that sly private investigator, McGraw? Yes, if there is anyone in the world who has such strange acquaintances, it is Jessica Fletcher.

_But __**at least**__ she knows them by __**one**__ name,_ Seth remarks. After hearing "Darryl" correct Jess by asking her to call him "John," and after hearing Harold call him "Mr. Reese," Seth could not help but wonder how many other names he goes by.

Jessica hears the frustration in Seth's voice, and rises from the dining table nearby, putting down the newspaper and removing her reading glasses as she does so.

"Seth," she says as she moves to the kitchen, "I know it's difficult to suddenly live under such horrifying circumstances."

"Especially if those circumstances involve two, **practically total strangers** keeping us in another apartment after being attacked by **several other strangers **without telling us why?"

"Rest assured, Dr. Hazlitt, I sympathize with both your frustration and Mrs. Fletcher's," says Harold as he limps his way out of a room that is across the living space, in front of the stairs. They both notice him carrying a laptop, and wearing square-framed glasses this time as he moves toward the dining table.

"But until now, your guess was as good as ours." He sits at the head of the table and unfolds the laptop to show bank statements and stock market accounts for both Seth and Jessica. Still unaccustomed to Harold's sudden knowledge of their personal lives, they stand behind him, and look at his laptop in both confusion and shock after they recognized their own accounts.

"**How in the blazes…**"

"It took me all night to determine the source of the threat," Harold cuts off Seth as he continues to speak evenly, "I couldn't find any connections between the men who assaulted you, nor those who raided the apartment."

"The cops who arrested them identified them as mercs," says the gruff figure named John, who seemed to suddenly stand behind them.

"Are **you** trying to kill us by giving us a heart attack," Seth gasps with a hand at his chest. Jess is also in shock, but not as much so as when John told them about their assailants.

"Mercenaries? You mean they were all hired gunmen?"

"Only those that were caught," Harold answers, "The man Mr. Reese witnessed fleeing remains unknown. However, the leader of the raid stated that they received instructions and payment through a messenger." Harold then pulls up a facial sketch of a man that appears to be in his forties, with dark hair and whiskers.

"This is the man that the gunmen described to be their messenger."

"They claim they don't know where they get their information exactly," says John, "Only that he hands out the money and instructions in an envelope. The instructions were destroyed afterwards."

"So we're not certain that he is the original employer," Jessica asks.

"According to these men," says Harold in response, "they were operating under the instructions from a family called O'Neill." Here Harold pulls up news articles and incident reports on the laptop.

"Who are they?"

"Irish mobsters," says John, "Fewer in numbers nowadays, but too stubborn to die off."

"I'm not certain if that is meant for a rival gang," says Seth uncomfortably, "or if you have a **habit** of making enemies with corrupt organizations."

"I can assure you, Dr. Hazlitt," Harold says, evenly as usual, "that despite his coarse sense of humor, Mr. Reese and I share a common goal," and before Seth asks, he answers, "To protect people."

"Well, after what happened yesterday," says Jess, "that much is certain." Feeling that they have wandered off, she asks, "Then this O'Neill family is responsible for these threats against our lives?"

"More or less," Harold says, expressing slight relief that they returned to the main discussion.

"What is the motive?"

"It appears Dr. Hazlitt inherited a substantial amount of shares in an estate located in South Carolina. It was previously owned by the late Buford Hazlitt."

"You know of cousin Buford's estate," asks Seth.

"Yes, as well as the trademark _Forever Scarlet_ perfume it is well known for," replies Harold. He then scrolls down on Seth's account to show an annual income of $750,000, most of which was donated to charities.

"It appears that you make a remarkable profit from these shares, even after you divided the inheritance with those who are employed there." The flustered doctor becomes speechless again, which prompts Jessica to continue inquiring about the perpetrators.

"So this O'Neill family seeks to acquire these shares from Seth?"

"That is the general motive that they have, yes," Harold responds, "Also, due to your reputation as a crime sleuth, the family fears you might help the police afterwards." After receiving this revelation, Jess collects herself and asks, "But how do they intend to do so if they kill him?"

"And **why** doesn't the police arrest them **already**," Seth suddenly adds with impatience.

"I'm afraid I don't possess full knowledge of their plans," says Harold, "However, I believe they might have sent someone in Cabot Cove to place a forged _Will and Testament_ that would make them the beneficiaries. With both of you dead, there will be no one to claim otherwise. Unfortunately, the police have not been able to find or contact any member of the family. They always seem to be away on business or pleasure."

"But what about the messenger," Jessica asks.

"Still haven't been able to locate him," this time John answers.

"Apparently this man is far more capable of avoiding detection than most would give him credit for," Harold concludes their discussion as he closes the laptop. He then rises from the table and makes his way to the coat rack near the door.

"Now just **where** are **you** off to," the puzzled doctor asks.

"I have an appointment with an asset of ours," Harold responds, "There are a few more suspicions that require further examination." Harold puts Bear on his leash, and is about to open the door.

"Do you mind if I join you?" This question is answered by several concerned looks towards the person who asked: Jessica persists, "I have a few inquiries of my own."

"Mrs. Fletcher…" Harold begins.

"Harold," she interrupts, "I know that you and John have made quite an effort to ensure Seth's safety, and my own, and we are most grateful. But if what you say is true about these people, then they must have put so much effort to see this operation through. I think it is necessary that I pitch in a little, see if there is anything that was overlooked." Hearing this logic prompts Harold to ponder the options he has, which earns a smirk from John.

After making a calculated risk, Harold looks back at Jess and says, "If you wish to contribute, Mrs. Fletcher, you may." Receiving a satisfied expression from Jessica, Harold waits for her to grab her coat and an umbrella.

"Just be sure to keep your face concealed to avoid recognition."

* * *

Detective Fusco looks out into the bay as he waits with his partner for their mutual friend in the cool, afternoon drizzle. He reflects on the nature of this meeting as he stands silently in the rain, watching the ships sailing past the towering Statue of Liberty. He finds it very unusual that they are both meeting up with "Mr. Glasses," instead of "Wonder Boy." They also tend not to meet with their shadow-like associates together at the same place. Whatever it is that they are dealing with is obviously big enough to upset the status quo of their relationship. Not that he minds that so much, but what bothers him is that the bigger the problem, the more likely it seems that "Mr. Happy" will use him for cover.

He remembers the first time both he and Carter had to work together to help John out of that firefight with HR, not to mention the FBI hunt. That was also the day they discovered they were working with the same people, with Carter pulling a gun on him to find out. The circumstances make Fusco wonder how fortunate they were not to get at each other's throats, as well as John's any worse than they did. But the point for Fusco is that the only reason they were all working together was because of that enormous situation they were in. Not to mention the problem of finding "Glasses" right after the Big Chase. Now he begins to sense the situation might be bigger than the usual once again, simply because of the fact that _both_ he and Carter are waiting for Finch, instead of John.

After checking his watch he asks, "What do you think's holding him up?"

"Maybe he's caught in bad traffic," Carter responds flatly.

"Yeah, or he's making sure he's not being followed."

"You're trying to tell me something?"

"You noticed how we usually meet with 'Wonder Boy' individually?"

"Yes," Carter answers patiently.

"And how we normally talk to 'Glasses' on the phone?"

"Yes."

"And did you notice how a lot more jumpy he's been after 'Crazy Chick' nabbed him?"

"What're you getting at, Fusco?"

"I'm just saying, Carter, whatever the problem is, it's big enough for 'Mr. Good News' to meet up with us both personally."

"Yeah, I feel the same way about it." Carter shifts her stance to face away from the cool breeze, turning towards Fusco. Like her partner, she feels ever more convinced that this is a bigger case than usual with every passing moment that Finch has not arrived. She looks at Fusco with the same concerned expression as he gives her.

"I guess we're going to find out here soon enough," she says with a shrug.

"Isn't that the only usual thing that we do around here?" But just after Fusco says this, he looks past his partner to see a black Cadillac arriving. Carter turns to face the car as well, and sees Finch getting out and fetching Bear from the back. She also notices someone who appears to be an elderly woman wearing a hooded raincoat, also departing from the vehicle, and both approach them. Recognizing her as Jessica Fletcher and one of the current victims, Carter politely greets her and introduces her to Fusco, then turns to Finch, offering a confused expression along with her partner. Sensing the inquisitiveness in their facial expressions, Finch responds, "Mrs. Fletcher is accompanying me to assist us in determining more about our current threat."

"Are you crazy," Fusco asks, "Dragging the person you're protecting with us out in the open?"

"Actually, I came on my own accord," says Mrs. Fletcher, receiving equally shocked expressions from both detectives.

"And you're okay with this, Finch," asks Carter.

"She is certainly capable in helping us discover the identity of our perpetrators," answers Finch evenly, "I'm sure we can afford to make a calculated risk, which is precisely why I called you both here."

"So we're going to be extra protection detail," Fusco concludes.

"But first I must ask what each of you has found out about this O'Neill family, and if they have any connections with HR." Given that the last question Finch brings is in Fusco's department, he answers, "By the looks of things, HR has definitely talked with people working for these O'Neill folks, or more like one person."

"Um, excuse me, HR," Fletcher asks, unfamiliar with that abbreviation.

"That's the name given for the corrupt cops we've been dealing with," Carter answers.

"I see. And this HR organization is involved with this O'Neill family?"

"Yeah, basically they made some sort of agreement," Fusco replies, "Stop the police dispatch for your witness protection to let them finish the job; they offer HR financial support in return."

"For what purpose is HR receiving support?"

"To rebuild the last remnants it has after the FBI sweep," says Carter.

"Yes, I remember hearing about that in the news. All those arrested, I was shocked by how many police officers that were involved."

"Yes, but there still remains a few that have yet to be taken into custody," Harold finishes her statement, "Now returning to my final question: have you uncovered the identity of their contact with HR?"

"Yeah, I got a good look of the photo they gave us in case we run into him." Fusco pulls out his cell phone from his pocket to show them the picture he took of the photograph. It reveals a man in a black leather jacket, with black hair and a partially-grown beard, encompassing a tall, narrowly round crown and jaw, and blue eyes.

"That's the same guy our mercenaries talked about," Carter says, recognizing the facial sketch of the messenger.

"Then we are dealing with the same man who sends messages from the O'Neill family," Fletcher concludes.

"Do they have a number to reach him," asks Finch.

"No. He says only _he calls them_ when he gets new information."

"Then I suggest you inform me as soon as he does, Detective."

"So what will you have us do right now?"

"As you, yourself said, Detective," Finch answers plainly, "extra protection detail." He then gives Fusco a calling card. Fusco looks at it then he turns it over to see an address.

"That is the location of the safe house. John is there with Dr. Hazlitt. You are to be stationed in the streets monitoring anyone entering or leaving the building that might raise suspicion. I suggest you depart right away."

"What are you going to do," Carter asks with curiosity.

"Mrs. Fletcher and I will pay a visit to someone I know at Rikers Island," Finch responds, "Someone who might be of some help to us."

"Uh, one more thing," Fletcher says, turning to Detective Carter, "Detective, I was wondering if you might reach Sheriff Metzger in Cabot Cove, Maine to check the contents of Seth Hazlitt's office safe. And more particularly, his will."

"I'll let you know as soon as I find anything out." Carter and Fusco are about to turn when Finch calls out to them, "And Detectives, I advise you to drive with additional caution on the way."

Understanding his final sentiment, they turn and walk back to their cruiser. As soon as they leave, Finch and Mrs. Fletcher turn to their own vehicle, during which she asks, "Harold, who do you know in Rikers that might help?"

"A man whom I play chess with," Finch answers cryptically.

* * *

The Machine watches as both parties leave Craven Point, and head to their appropriate destinations. Moments after their departures, it notices someone on a motorcycle, wearing a full-face helmet, driving off in pursuit of Admin 1's vehicle.


End file.
